


Stars above, Mops below

by TuonelianTerror



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22919632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuonelianTerror/pseuds/TuonelianTerror
Summary: Leon S. Kennedy dances in the President's garden tonight, alone. He wishes Chris was here.Until..a hand takes his, and sweeps him off his feet.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield
Comments: 5
Kudos: 86





	Stars above, Mops below

**Author's Note:**

> My first Resident Evil fic, yay! I'm falling for this pairing and I really just needed to de-stress with some fluff. Someone please give Leon a hug.

Leon misses Chris like the stars miss the sky, or the moon misses the sun, something cheesy and romantic like that.

In all his 40 years, he never thought he'd swoon over someone like he was 14 again, but here he was, drunk off his ass at the President's party, dancing with a mop in the garden.

Chris said he couldn't make it to the party, but as an official, Leon had to be there. Mr. President told him to enjoy himself tonight, and that's exactly what he did; bee-lining straight to the open bar.

It was no secret that Leon chose to cope in a bottle of booze. 20 years knee deep in shit will do that to a man, one who's seen, breathed and walked through death-made a career out of it.

He's not that wide-eyed rookie whose first day was ruined by flesh eating zombies, nor is he the wise-cracking douchebag fighting the Los Illuminados running through remote villages in Spain and praying every second that he didn't accidentally get a peek up Ashley Graham's short skirt, now he's just a man floating through life, one step at a time, never forgetting the steps to a dance he's been doing since he first stepped into Raccoon City. 

It usually takes two to tango, but Leon S. Kennedy is alone tonight, dancing with a mop who's stiff and unnerving. It doesn't speak, and Leon doesn't need it to. It doesn't judge him like he knows others do. It doesn't point at him like he knows others do.

He knows. He saw the stares, he heard the whispers, he saw the fingers pointing at him. 

It doesn't matter. Sometimes he wonders if anything does.

The mop isn't Chris. That much he knows. It doesn't smile at him like he does. It doesn't hold him and breathe him and tell him that everything's gonna be alright. 

He's heard that song and done that dance already. 

The mop says nothing but it's all he needs right now as he takes it into a waltz, wishing he could just have Chris here-

-and all of a sudden, the mop is gone, it's replaced by a large body. A hand slips into his and an arm curls around the hardened veteran; the warrior. 

It's strong and burly and large and smells divine, and Leon is swept into a waltz before he can even process, and dipped to the floor.

He feels like a princess, the belle of the ball, and he knows he should hate it, but it's all he wants when he looks up into the eyes of Chris Redfield. 

Before he can speak, Chris dips down, meeting his lips in a tender embrace. 

He forgot what he wanted to say, at this moment, he let his body do all the talking, a flush running from his neck, past his unkempt facial hair, to the bags under his eyes, to his pale cheeks.

Chris grins as he pulls Leon up, pressing their bodies and foreheads together. 

It's everything he ever dreamed of, holding the official, the warrior, the survivor, in his arms. 

Time, paranoia, fear, made him almost let Leon walk away, the fear too great of..the thought of watching Leon die, it was unbearable. 

Leon is flush against his body, the scent of alcohol, of spices and the cool of the night in the air, and Chris is drunk on it already.

He knows Leon is drunk right now, and he had laughed, watching him dance with a mop-he swears once upon a time, an old friend of Leon's had done the same, even asked the thing to marry him-perhaps the old friend said to be with a mop, it'll clean up all your messes without judgement. 

Both Chris and Leon knew there was a lifetime of messes between them, but all he wanted right now, as Leon swayed to and fro to the music in his head-he hoped all he heard was real music, a calming melody, not a symphony of flying bullets and blood-curdling screams-was to dance beside him.

He held out his hand, bowing to his officer, warrior, survivor.

"Leon Kennedy, may I have this dance?"


End file.
